Penpals are still something to write home about

There’s a ‘new man in my life’.

His name is Les and he lives in Bristol. We ‘met’ in April, and have been writing to one another since — handwritten letters, in envelopes with licked-on stamps, that take a few days to be sent from I to B (Ireland to Bristol) and back.

In each of his letters, I learn more about Les — a new chapter in his life. He has a way with description: I can visualise his end-of-terrace, three-bed Victorian house, and his long back garden, with its bluebells and heathers and roses and trees.